Adam
I paced the length of the lavishly furnished room like a restless predator, my boots thudding softly against the marbled floor. The walls felt too close, the air too stifling, like I was breathing through cotton. There was not enough space—no, not for my legs, not for my fury. Every stride I took barely dented the storm building beneath my skin.
Fucking hell.
I nearly growled, my eyes snapping to the two perfectly lined-up rows of people in front of me—quivering like leaves in a goddamn thunderstorm. Stylists. Twenty of them, their trembling hands clutching brushes and compacts and makeup kits sent by the Council.
Why?
Because the f*****g ball was happening tonight. Because, apparently, in my six-hour absence—from last night to this godforsaken morning—everyone, from those I desp
